


If Dandelions Were Easy To Grow

by JustaMinuet



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Cults, F/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:59:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4585170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustaMinuet/pseuds/JustaMinuet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slit and Dag. Cars and flowers. He does one good thing- forced to do it, really. And now he's stuck with all these clingy people. Stuck with her. And maybe a bit more comfortable than he wants to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Dandelions Were Easy To Grow

**Author's Note:**

> Give me a great action movie, and I'll give you a domestic AU. Thank you, Tom, for allowing me to ramble on about this, and encouraging me to actually do it.

Dag JoBassa considered herself a reasonable person. This was a lie to anyone who knew her, but as far as she was concerned, she was usually of sound judgement, not prone to irrational temperament.   
  
Which is why she thought she was very much justified when she hissed and screeched at the bulldozers that laid waste to the vacant lot next to The Many Mothers Flower Shop. She had plans for that lot. That was _her_ lot. Well, as soon as she saved up the money to buy it, anyway. Of course, that wasn't going to happen for a few years. Keeper hadn't even handed over ownership of the shop to her; the old woman wasn't quite done yet, and to be fair, Dag wasn't that eager to see her retire. Still, Dag was going to use that plot to expand the shop, maybe even hire on outside help, instead of depending entirely on family. Have a real, large place, that could contend with the chain stores in the neighboring towns.   
  
Or, at the very least, not have an awful, ugly, cement and steel monstrosity of an auto repair shop built next to her precious flower shop.   
  
Dag understood that people owned cars. Her whole family did. She would, if she hadn't lived in the apartment above the shop. Maybe. Public transportation was so much healthier for the environment. And she so hated the act of driving itself. Regardless, repair shops were necessary. They kept cars running, which in turn kept people getting to where they needed to be. Dag appreciated that, on a practical level.   
  
That didn't mean she wanted one in arms distance. Especially one where most of the employees were young, loud men, who kept the garage doors open, letting every filthy fume out. The stench of which was rivaled only by the belching smoke of the motorcycles they drove to get there. Dag would sometimes daydream about sneaking into their back parking lot, and shoving those pristine bikes over in revenge for her lost lot. Only Cheedo's frowning pout and whispered warning that she was not old enough to bail Dag out of jail, stopped the older girl from caving into the temptation.

Dag's thirst for vengeance started ebbing at around the time Ace started coming into the shop for flowers. The old man had introduced himself as the owner of the repair shop, and had instantly struck up an accord with Keeper. It didn't take long for him to become acquainted with the rest of the women, and for everyone to warm up to him. Dag, despite herself, also became a bit fond of their now regular costumer. It was hard not to be. Ace was laid back, and affable. He remembered even the most random tidbits one of the ladies had mentioned previous, and seemed genuinely interested in how they were doing. He had even shy Cheedo speaking freely around him. He made it a habit to show up at least biweekly for a new bouquet. Said his receptionist liked the smell of the flowers- never the flowers themselves, which Dag found a little odd. Ace also had a monthly routine of ordering a bulk of smaller arrangements. It was never the same amount. Sometimes five, sometimes even up to nineteen. But always at around the middle of the month, when he strolled in for his usual bundle of flowers, he asked for his larger order.

The order itself was never a problem. Ace wasn't picky when it came to the flowers. "Anything red or white. Whatever, yeah?" he once said, and the ladies ran with it. And they certainly weren't going to begrudge him for dropping something so large on them if they were already busy. The painful truth being, they were never too busy. Chains were killer competition, and The Many Mothers stayed open based solely on costumer loyalty. If Ace asked for sixteen bouquets by the end of the week, he got them without complaint. With the most expensive flowers the ladies could use, of course. He never seemed to mind. Cheedo also enjoyed these orders, as it gave her a chance to help, without anyone really having to supervise the usually unsure girl. Give Cheedo some paint and a canvas, and she could make you a dream. Give her more than two or three colors of flowers, and the poor thing would sit there worrying over how to arrange it for hours.

The problem ultimately came down to pick up. For obvious reasons, Ace couldn't take all the bouquets himself. Keeper had offered that some of the girls could box them up, and simply walk them next door, but the man had refused to put them the smallest bit out of their way. To be honest, the women were glad for it, since no one was particularly keen on walking into a repair shop filled with young men whose mouths seemed to made of dirt, if half the things that were overheard from the place were a testament.

So, with bouquets boxed up and ready to go, Ace would usually come in with one or two of his employees. Or maybe they were his sons. Dag wasn't sure. They didn't look like him, but with the way he talked to them, she wondered. And she knew firsthand you didn't have to have blood to make a family.

If the order was on the smaller side, he'd bring just the one. A skinny boy, with bright blue eyes and shaggy dark hair. He didn't seem to talk, unless spoken to, and then it was normally a string of stuttered sentences. Corked energy. The ladies had noted the light scars on his face, the marred lips. He'd be scary, if he didn't come off as such a puppy. Cheedo wasn't even afraid. She'd talk to him in whispers when he came, and he'd ramble right back to her. Nux, Cheedo had once told Dag. His name was Nux. Dag filed him away in the back of her mind. Scary looking, but harmless Nux.

On the other hand, if the order was large, Ace would also bring Slit. Dag did not need to be told Slit's name. She learned it the first day he came in, and it stuck with her. He talked less than Nux, but she had a feeling it had less to do with shyness, and more to do with being totally anti-social. Nux would look around the shop with a sort of wide eyed wonder. Like he was actually impressed by all the flowers around him. Slit looked around like the place could be on fire, and the most he would do to help was roast a marshmallow.

His general look did nothing to improve any first impression he could give (not that he had made an attempt at giving a positive one). Scars, deep and red, stretched wide on his face. A macabre sort of permanent grin, accented with oversized staples on his cheek. He was bald, which Dag supposed wouldn't normally be a negative trait. Ace was bald. But Ace had that _Friendly Bald Grandfather_ look about him. There was nothing about Slit's lack of hair that made him friendly looking. All it did was help emphasize the scarring, and make obvious how half his right ear was missing.

Cheedo kept a wide berth from Slit. Which maybe wasn't fair, since he never did anything overtly rude or eerie. He just stood there, grunted a few things when he was talked to, and looked miserable.

And so, this became the routine. If it was Ace, or Ace and Nux, the women went about their business like any other day. They chatted, and smiled, and had a general atmosphere of good humor. In contrast, Slit Days were usually met with Cheedo "needing" to check stock in the back, or being very occupied by a display arrangement. The other women spent their time doing their regular activities, only with a lot less gossip, and avoiding making any accidental eye contact with the reason behind the unusual gloominess. Like it was known that he just wanted to be left alone, and the slightest bit of interaction would be taken as an affront to his personal space.

Until one time, Dag had had her fill. There was just so much tip-toeing she was willing to do. She couldn't take that he was in her shop, scaring her little sister, making everyone miserable by extension of his own attitude, and just... just standing there like if everything in the world _stopped_ , he'd be okay with it. There couldn't be so little to him. He wouldn't drag himself so clearly out of his comfort zone to help Ace take all these bouquets, if he was simply some jackass with a bad face.

"Here," she said, holding a cardboard box of bouquets out to him. "Gentle. They like to breathe."

His eyes went from the box, to her for just a moment, then back to the box. "Fine." Muttered. Indifferent.

He was too calm of voice, and too twisted with something else. And Dag wanted to peel back his layers, and see what was underneath.

Maybe she should've noticed that Ace and Nux had turned to the two of them, Nux a picture of sudden nervousness. Maybe she should've noticed Ace's usually slumped posture being ramrod straight. Maybe she should've noticed the tension in the two men a few feet away.

But she didn't. Instead what Dag did notice was-

"Red inside the blue."

"What?" Slit looked back at her, and the red, smiling scars did nothing to hide his frown.

"Your eye," Dag clarified, head tilted.

Perhaps on instinct, his right eye twitched. Dag liked it. When had it been hurt? Was it temporary? Permanent? Did he see well out of it?

Her voice warbled a bit, like there was music only she could hear. "Red inside the blue. It swirls, like one of Cheedo's paintings. It's fascinating."

That seemed to be all Slit could bear, and he stiffened like someone had set a gun off. His mouth opened, and Dag found herself wondering if he spoke as dirty as all his friends in the grease pit next door did. She had gone too far, she knew. But he was just so interesting to look at, and it was so frustrating that he didn't want to interact with anyone. She had to push, had to prod. Needed to know what made him tick. Wanted to grab his hand, and read his palm. Wanted to see if Big Scary Slit really was that, if there was something bigger in there, or if he was just some plain guy with a chip on his shoulder, who so happened to be the most curious version of ugly she'd ever come across.

She didn't get to learn just then, as Nux slung his arm almost violently around Slit's shoulders, gripping the slightly shorter man rather tight. "Oy, Slit, mate! Let's go. We don't need to stay for Ace to pay the ladies." His voice was just a touch too high, a bit too happy. Nux jostled him, until Slit finally took his broken gaze off Dag, and looked at the other man. Nux's overtly happy expression sobered, his voice even, soft. "Let's go. No problems, right?"

Slit looked over at Dag for a moment, before turning back. "No. No problems."

The two walked out without another word, Nux turning only a moment to look at Ace, something unreadable passing between them.

"Dag," Keeper glared daggers. "Apologize."

Ace waved his hands, dismissive. "It's fine, it's okay. Don't fret it, yeah? No harm done."

"Plenty harm," said Keeper. She folded her arms. "You don't go around insulting costumers in what is still _my_ shop _._ "

That was enough to snap Dag out of her reverie, and completely into the reality of the moment. "I'm sorry. It's just, he's so interesting to look at-"

"Dag!"

The wrinkled hand that hit the counter caused a resounding _thwack_. Cheedo flinched. Dag blanched. The other women pretended they were hearing nothing.

"Enough," Keeper said. She rounded on Dag, an accusing finger pointed. "Your wordy flights of fancy are fine amongst all of us. We're used to it. We know it's harmless, even flattering. But you can't expect the costumers to be as okay with it. They don't understand, as you could see. You need to haul that in. The next time you see the boy, you apologize."

"No!" Ace piped up. "Please, don't. Believe me when I tell you, it's better just to pretend the whole thing never happened. Please."

The desperation in that one word hung in the air, dangled a bit, then seemed to drop onto Keeper's head. The old woman sighed, displeased and embarrassed, but not wanting to upset her patron further. "As you wish."

"Ah, good, good," that seemed to bright Ace's mood a bit. He paid perhaps a bit too quickly, but instead of hurrying out, he took a moment to walk over to Dag. He patted her arm, and whispered solely for her ears, "Don't fret, love. He's already a lemon. You can't sour him any more than he is."

When he finally left, the only sound for a moment was the bell above the door ringing. It sounded unusually ominous.

Instead of it being a death knell, it signified a long, defeated sigh from Keeper. Without Ace there, she had no reason to put forth any anger, just resigned annoyance. "My lovely Dag," she said, "must you?"

"It slipped out!" Dag cried, fingers twittering. "I looked at him, and I had to say it. He's just so incredibly striking to look at. Like puzzle pieces forced into the wrong places. Don't you think he's a curious one?"

"I think he's a bit dreadful," Cheedo replied. She pulled a strand of her hair, a nervous twitch she'd had since before she came into the family. "He's creepy."

" _You're_ a curious one," Mattie chuckled, while she pruned an arrangement, the other ladies smiling in agreement.

Dag stuck her tongue at the women. It was all good natured teasing. She was used to being considered the odd one. The free thinker. The one whose head would forever be in the clouds, if her sisters didn't routinely pull her down from there. And really, she was quite fine with that.

She pressed onward. "I'm simply stating that his ugliness is actually the most amazing thing."

"Oh, Dag," Keeper closed her eyes, shoulders slumped, and hands pressed together as if in prayer.

"His face is so delightfully mauled, it's actually a bit handsome," Dag mused. "In an odd, muddy way. Maybe not handsome. No? No. More like a strangely engaging display of beastly. You think they burn, those scars?"

"Precious Dag," Keeper waved her hands, knowing full well that if she didn't stop Dag's ramblings now, this would be an hours long, one sided conversation that everyone would have to suffer through. When Dag's thoughts managed to settle on a subject, it took another, just as intriguing subject to get her to halt. "Do my old bones a favor, and mix me some of those oils that you love so much. The ones that are good for aching muscles."

"Oh, yes!" Dag trilled, a bright smile crossing her features, any thought of Slit instantly vanished. "If you'd like. I do so enjoy making them. Like a witch, I feel."

"Go ahead, little witch," Keeper said. "I could use the comfort." And when Dag flittered her way up the stairs to her apartment where her mixtures were, Keeper added, "And the momentary peace."

Dag had months ago set up a bit of a lab in her living room, a corner of which she had devoted to a sloppy assortment of homemade tonics and oils. The place smelled like incense, even with the lack of it and windows opened constantly. Dag loved it. Recipes written in red marker covered the one wall like a giant scroll. Capable, the ever pragmatic one amongst her sisters, had offered to type them all out for her one day, and maybe Dag would take her up on it. Eventually. But then she would have no reason for her own sort of art to be displayed, and the thought of painting over it leaves Dag sick.

She sat hunched over in complete concentration, brewing up Keeper the mixture the older woman seemed to like the most. Lavender. Keeper liked the smell of lavender. Cheedo liked rose. Well, she said "rose," but meant Gertrude Jekyll. Dag could go on forever about how different types of the same flower would smell different. She'd watch her sister try to stay focused, but slowly fall into a haze of disinterest. It didn't matter. Dag knew what Cheedo meant when she said she liked rose. She knew what everyone meant when it came to flowers, and scents, and oils. Flowers were complex, and fun to pick apart. Very much like her family, though they were not always so welcome to her insights. But to hold down Dag was to grip the wind, and no one bothered to try, anymore. It wasn't as if no one else in the family had their quirks or bad behavior.

She finished the oil for Keeper in a bit, but found herself unwilling to leave the table of her own type of witchcraft. Anxious, she traipsed downstairs, handled the brew to Keeper, and claimed a headache. The older woman wasn't fooled. She was never fooled. Always the keen eyed one, Keeper of the Seeds. But she let Dag go, regardless. Maybe if only to not have a repeat of the day's earlier drama.

And that was just fine with Dag. It gave her the freedom to continue without interruption. One more mix. Something on her wall, but only made once. Aloe, honey... where did she put that Vitamin E oil Angharad had bought her?

Maybe she should organize? Later. Much later. _Finish it up, Dag._

She placed the final concoction in a small amber bottle, and placed it away in her cupboard. Her own little secret. It probably wouldn't ever see the light of day. But just in case. Dag did love her just in cases. One should always be prepared. That's simply sound reason. And Dag JoBassa was a very reasonable person.


End file.
